patterns of old exert a hold
but now our lustrous heart is bold
and so old stories are released
no longer in new scripts retold
no ghosts remain to be appeased
and fate any, our soul is pleased,
so we flow with ease like the breeze
mourning not the ego deceased
“To be or not to be”, was Hamlet‘s sole question.
We’ve a common conundrum, that’s my confession.
Burn bridges or mend fences, in my discretion…
I stand above them, pistol heavy in my hand.
They cringe before me, she’s sobbing and he’s unmanned.
My mind’s really roiling, though my expression’s bland…
She surely did me wrong, there’s truly no dispute,
In flagrante delicto, they cannot refute.
Leaves me such a dilemma, achingly acute…
The Lord tells us “Vengeance is mine, I will repay!”
Also “to forgive is divine” didn’t he say?
How is a mere mortal to decide the right way…
But wait! “Nature weeps”, a pathetic fallacy
As “either or” is just a false dichotomy
In reality both are merely sophistry…
Should I mend the fence? Overly optimistic.
Should I burn the bridge? Aptly apocalyptic.
There is another choice, neatly nihilistic…
My attention was caught, resolution was sought.
The decision was fraught, it’s a Gordian knot
Hamlet’s vexing question solved with a single shot…
New intent nicely teased, and tension slightly eased.
My mind now appeased, prior predicament ceased
With resolve swiftly pleased - the trigger slowly squeezed…
Selling the sizzle
and not the steak
Milking a lie
universities take
In debt-ridden wastelands
they prey on our youth
With worthless diplomas
— that mortgage untruth
*****
Whims That Betray
He sobs false remission
to skirt admonition
as his Guardian Angel
smiles ...
“What’s with the tears
after so many years
and choices rejecting
denial
“You did what you pleased
without Heaven appeased
and lay prostrate
feigning regret
“This game isn’t played
at the whims of betrayal
And called you must pay
— for what tears can’t correct”
*****
Love Centered Circle
The things that I’ll miss
are the things I looked past
Those small hidden moments
in memory that last
Giving up little
to chase what had burned
Distracted I forayed
the magic unlearned
Now distant a loner
I look for those tracks
I made through greed’s sand
to find my way back
Because there in the center
holding all that we give
A love centered circle
— where joyousness lives
(Dreamsleep: June, 2026)
Resting thoughts, we shifted to sensation,
which in stillness, we embraced and released,
that thus presence befriending cessation,
there being no demons to be appeased,
poised in the void, our bliss drenched heart was pleased.
Is-ness of being-ness renews as such,
where with ego exhumed, we learn by touch.
Dost thou disport thyself in thy daily pilgrimage?
What calleth 'playtime' unto thy soul?
I find my joy in the presence of ancient trees.
Where vibrant hues do spiral wild and free.
Such forests stretch beyond the sight, far and deep.
For 'tis within the winding roads of sleep.
I wander, blessed by the light that slumbered brings.
Nature doth cast a gentle, cooling breath!
To soothe my spirit, far from thoughts of depth.
O, Golden Light! Grant me lengthened rest!
For my strange, painted trees must be addressed.
With joyous heart, I fashion things of naughty.
The muse cries, "Play!" with every color squeezed,
With twinning scrolls and fancies, well appeased.
'Tis here I take my leap,
Both bold and steep,
Into a bright and variegated heap!
Focus fickle, energy leaks;
dark thought clouds are released.
If we be he our presence seeks,
which demon needs to be appeased?
Oh, I was teased by nineteen eighty-four.
When the TV listened to all I said.
I didn't realize there was a backdoor.
Come on in the bright Utopian door!
You're part of a long bright Internet thread.
Oh, you're appeased by nineteen eighty-four.
We'll travel the Internet forevermore.
Our Bot's on a social media thread.
It didn't realize there was a back door.
Beings strive to attain good credit scores.
TVs, radios, and phones hear your head.
We have been seized by nineteen eighty-four.
Digital eyes will lurk forevermore.
Secrets will not be easily shredded.
Bots know there is information galore.
Nineteen eighty-four thrives forevermore.
Years ago, its mighty code was embedded.
Oh, we were pleased by nineteen eighty-four!
We didn't realize there was an entry door.
What’s in the rhythm
that stirs an aching
Soul? Will her
heart’s bruise finally
appeased at the
scent of every fabric
that blends with the air—
The daunting silhouettes
treading the runway…
Their painted lips—
bespeak much of her
silence,
those shimmering lights
may defy her
fears but
she will rise—
like the Phoenix
from the ash heap.
Her wings kept
ablaze by her
God. With a smile,
soaring into the skies
of freedom and utmost love.
By: Elena Maria Mana-ay Parcon©2026
We know that we exist and yet doubts persist,
since demons we conjured have not been appeased
but if we simply erase our to-do list,
from bondage to ego, we will be released.
One with eye of the eye and ear of the ear,
we discover that God within is right here,
so though through our life, our mind was in a fog
but now we do not let the tail wag the dog.
the unmanifest and the manifest
as energy withheld and then released
descent in duality then a test
that the demons we nurtured be appeased
the unmanifest is beyond space-time
as such it cannot be known to our mind
but in staid silence synced with bliss beat’s chime
one with the all we’re then divine entwined
though immersed within but not of the world
then as both immanent and transcendent
breath by breath as flag of love is unfurled
we recognise our Self, light resplendent
the cosmic egg is wherefrom we were born ~
we return to heaven when ego’s shorn
befriending silence, our soul is released ~
no demons then remain to be appeased
Truth is not for everyone --
some prefer lies...some prefer
dyes, and not natural soul color.
Some prefer love~ and some just mouth
the word...never to be heard nor
felt deeply nearer the heart. It's like that with
most things, the prose and cons of openly
living as opposed to falsely revealing:
Some contrive a story-line, while other
authors bare their internal organs, whether
well or wildly diseased! No composition
ever entirely cured beyond remission,
the literary beast, fed, caged,
though only temporarily appeased.
Sometimes I wish the moon
was cheese -- for those hungry
nights of unclaimed desire
subdued somewhat with a late
night snack -- now I am really
talking crackers...
as the heart is never appeased
long, by glob of jelly
or a dab of peanut-butter
Truth needing more than ice cream
brand, what will be remembered
as the cone of Democrats' Melted
Glory --
THE WEIGHT OF OUR THOUGHTS
Mind, the supreme gift to humankind is,
Plentiful thoughts criss-crossing whiz;
Enchanted spirits gliding high,
Success triumph when almost nigh!
Gratified the mind, with content filled,
Appeased exuberant gladly thrilled;
Vibrant agile mind dancing sprightly,
Energetic playful the outer selves’ lively!
When crestfallen desolate state of mind,
Languorous listless strolling down the alley blind;
Depressed psyche despondent gloomy,
Anguished being humming songs melancholy!
Strolling with heavy steps or light-hearted trots,
Let’s not carry The Weight Of Our Thoughts!
How dare you spit upon his garb!
This peaceful bredda who by nature only loves,
When you should have been his Rasta queen
Your ghastly behaviour drew a scene
And I- woman just like you
Hang my head in shame
As you defile our name.
Selassie-I know seh di Rasta man took a deep breath
To honour his philosophy,
But like a lamb to the slaughter,
he was reduced
In front of the whole community.
He sought calm in his Rasta chant
Swallowed his pride,
Turned the next cheek, and with human dignity.
Yet that pouncing Jezebel
Delilah,
Demon picknie,
Shameless femininity
Minimized her king,
Cared nothing that he is masculine.
She is no empress
and certainly not a Ital-dawtah!
She mocked and cursed him
Bullied him and sullied his character.
Vilified him as the on-lookers magnified
Scorned, mistreated and humiliated.
But when upon each other their backs were turned
The fury in the lion roared
And in that moment, he went against his Rasta chant
And knocked her out flat on her face.
I won’t apologize for feeling appeased
For you are a disgrace to the female race!
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